


Theobald and Fancy

by cirque



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cats, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: They stuck to their opposite ends of the enchanted forest, for the most part, each stoically pretending the other didn’t exist, but their cats - their cats were in love.
Relationships: Female Plant Mage/Female Weather Mage, Winter Witch/Spring Witch
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Theobald and Fancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scintilla10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scintilla10/gifts).



They stuck to their opposite ends of the enchanted forest, for the most part, each stoically pretending the other didn’t exist, but their cats - their cats were in love. Theobald was the kind of orange that glowed in the sun. He was beautiful, and he knew it. Fancy was white with pale blue eyes, as befitted a winter witch’s cat, a half-wild beauty with a bite to match. They made quite a pair.

The kittens were born in Petra’s outbuilding. It was a laboratory of sorts, and a greenhouse, and sometimes a study - all the same, it was no place for a litter. She discovered them one brutal morning. The dew was frozen to the crocuses. She summoned a warm breeze to accompany her on her usual post-breakfast trip to the outbuilding. She made plants sprout in her wake and, occasionally, the odd mushroom. She had a current fondness for lion’s mane, there was something about how dramatic they looked, how close to angel’s wings. She could spend forever watching them grow.

The kittens, however, were another matter.

“Well,” she grumbled to Theobald as he twined himself around her legs. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

Fancy, who was nursing the kittens, gave out a trembling meow, as though in apology. The kittens looked healthy enough. They were mostly white, with varying splodges of ginger, except for one brown tabby.

Petra smiled. “I think Fancy has something she wants to tell you,” she said to Theobald. He mewed in agreement.

Petra was not looking forward to breaking the news to Alba. They had not spoken much in the five years that Petra had occupied her cottage on the eastern edge of the forest. Far away on the western edge lay Alba’s hut, a small and modest building made entirely of ice. Out west, almost everything was ice or, for some variation, snow. Alba controlled the weather with a tight fist, and it hailed more days than not. You had to be brave to trek out west. You had to dress appropriately.

Petra however had a trick of her own. With every step she took into the forest, she breathed out a carpet of flowers, sent little blooms wherever she trod, melted the snow into damp puddles that sank into the thirsty earth. She had a walking stick and each time she pressed it down into the ground the dead twigs turned to vibrant leaves. Spring was dawning in the snow.

She reached the ice shack a little after high noon. The winter sun was beating down on the bare back of her neck. She left her walking stick by the edge of the forest and walked the rest of the way alone, her feet crunching into the deep snow. Their magics had something of a battle of wills; several pools of snow melted, but the rest remained resolutely frozen. Petra stomped her way noisily, trying not to take Alba by surprise. 

She knocked on the door. The ice of it trembled. 

“Alba - it’s me. We’re grandparents.”

There was the sound of heeled feet making contact with sheets of ice inside the hut. The frozen door was pulled open on its frozen hinges. Alba stared down icily. She frowned to see Petra. She was as pale as the snow which littered her garden.

“It’s those damn cats, isn’t it?” Alba said. Her voice was as gravelly as the roar of a moving glacier.

Petra swallowed. “Yup.” She swung her foot about awkwardly. She felt foolish, coming all this way to break the news. It was only kittens, after all. No need to break their truce. 

“So… shall we talk custody?” Petra said.

Alba continued staring. Her eyes were the same blue as Fancy’s, and Petra found they looked like open water, like the soft head of a snowdrop. She swallowed. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Alba’s lip twitched. “Only if you promise not to melt my house?”

Petra dramatically crossed her heart. “I’ll leave my magic at the door.” To illustrate, she made grass grow over the porch. It immediately turned to frost, and Petra scowled.

“See that you do,” Alba said. She moved aside to allow Petra entrance.

Everything indoors was ice, or more correctly glass tamed to look like ice. There were carved stalagmites lining the stairway that curved upwards, a beautiful silver mirror along the wall, an ice sculpture in the center of the entrance hall.

“Wow,” said Petra, “You’ve really - uh - found your aesthetic, huh?” 

“Do I come to your cottage, make light of your wreaths or whatever they are?”

“ _ Wreathes _ ? Is that what you think I do with my magic? It isn’t all about image, you know. It’s more intimate than that.”

Alba swallowed. “Right.”

Petra followed her through into the living room. It was more of the same, all white and blue and silver. It was elegant, if she had to pick a word. There was a quiet beauty in the cleanliness of it. Petra thought of her own cottage, the mud and grass and mushrooms, and felt a little ashamed. She was keenly aware of the muck on her boots. 

“So, did you come here just to insult me?” Alba sat down on one of the long pale sofas. Petra sat beside her, trying to be graceful. She probably didn’t succeed.

“Insult you? I never meant -”

But Alba held up a hand. “Just… get to the point?”

“Our grandchildren…” she said, seriously. “There are four of them.”

“And you’re here to achieve what?”

“You know in some cultures, new life is a cause for celebration.” Her biting tone would put the ice queen to shame.

The winter witch flinched. “And Fancy - is she… ok?” She was concerned, Petra could tell. It was a kind of vulnerability that lurked beneath her frosty mask, bubbling up to the surface, grasping for a crack in the ice.

“Perfectly well, near as I can tell. My Theobald is by her side. They make a wonderful family.” She smiled warmly. Warm enough to melt Alba’s mask. The ice witch could not help the fond look that flitted across her features.

Petra continued. “I’m guessing they were born some time in the night. They were hours old when I stumbled across them.”

“I assume Fancy will remain where she is?”

“Yes, she’s welcome to stay for the duration. She’s made a little nest in my shed, it’s quite charming actually. I wouldn’t dream of asking her to move.”

“You’ll have to remember to brush her. Her fur gets terrible matts if you miss a day.”

“You could always…  _ visit _ ?”

Alba gasped, as though Petra had hit her. Her face was a mess of emotions, panic and disgust and something deeper besides. “I - uh - I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” said Petra, who knew how patient one had to be with the winter. She would wait it out, as she did every year.

“We’ll have to find them suitable homes, I won’t have them going to any old woods witch.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Perhaps we could be responsible for two each?”

“Sounds fair.”

“Until they’re old enough. Until then we’ll have to…”

Petra laughed. “Co-parent?”

“Those damn cats.”


End file.
